


My Love Is A Liquid

by cuttooth



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Agender Jon, But also some sex, Canon Asexual Character, Engulfing as an act of intimacy, Jon is a goo creature, Mention of variable genitals, Mind Reading, Non-human Jon, Other, Psychic Abilities, Sex Curious Asexual, Shapeshifting, Trans Martin Blackwood, Variable gender presentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27312562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttooth/pseuds/cuttooth
Summary: Jon continues moving upward, wrapping himself around Martin’s chest and shoulders, caressing down along his arms, enveloping him in a warm, syrupy embrace. Liquid tendrils coil around his fingers, as Jon clasps both Martin’s hands. The sensation sends a slow, pleasurable shiver down Martin’s spine. The intimacy of this moment, entirely immersed in the person he loves, held safe and cherished, always takes his breath away. And this is usually where it ends.This time, though, Jon keeps going.*Martin and Jon share a deeper intimacy.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 30
Kudos: 162
Collections: Artefact Storage Monsterloving Event 2020





	My Love Is A Liquid

**Author's Note:**

> Another entry for the Monsterloving event, because Martin being lovingly engulfed by his goo boyfriend lives rent free in my brain. Apologies for the paragraphs of backstory dump in here. 
> 
> Jon is genderless, but uses he/him pronouns in this. Terms used for Martin's genitalia are: cock, cunt. 
> 
> Title from the song of the same name by Tubeway Army; how could I resist?
> 
> See end note for additional warnings.

Jon’s flat is always warm. He can’t stand the cold at all, grumbles when Martin drags him out on chilly days, wrapped in five layers of clothes and so much scarf and wooly hat that his face is scarcely visible. It makes sense, Martin supposes. The cave in Dorset where he first met Jon was practically balmy, heated by a geothermal spring; warmth seems to be his natural habitat.

Martin’s glad of it now, as he strips off his underwear and stands naked under Jon’s intent observation. He’s always considered his own body functional—solid, nothing much to write home about—but Jon is fascinated by it, all its contours and textures and functions. He never misses an opportunity to look at Martin, to touch and compare Martin’s physicality to his own.

 _Interesting,_ he said the first time they met, a voice out of nowhere insinuating itself into Martin’s brain. And before Martin could even reply, he was rising up out of the stone basin where he’d been reclining, his form shimmering and shifting until it settled into a slim, dark eyed man who was so intensely Martin’s type that his mouth went dry even as his brain tried to wrap itself around what was happening. 

“Very interesting,” the man said, and his voice was _that_ voice. “I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed this appearance from your thoughts.” 

Martin felt his face go crimson as he realized that this—person? Being?—had taken a shape straight out of his most embarrassing romantic fantasies about being swept off his feet by a handsome stranger. He watched, as the being took a first step towards him.

And promptly collapsed back into a pool of translucent fluid. 

It only took Jon a short time to figure out how to hold a solid form together, and now he can stay humanoid for a day or more before he needs to recover. He can change his size and shape and appearance almost limitlessly, though he spends most of his time in that first form he plucked from Martin’s mind. 

That’s how he appears now, as he scrutinizes Martin’s body with interest. Martin wraps his arms around himself, feeling a bit self-conscious. 

“If you’re going to stand there staring at me you could at least take your clothes off.”

“It hardly seems worthwhile,” Jon grumbles, “But all right.” With a faint blurring of his outline, the appearance of clothing vanishes, replaced by skin. Martin smiles at the aesthetic choices he’s gone for today. He’s wearing the more masculine build he tends to favor, which Martin suspects is partly due to Jon psychically drawing on _his_ preferences, though he certainly doesn’t object to the days Jon shapes his body into softer curves, rounding out his hips and his chest. No genitals, because Jon considers them unwieldy unless there’s a specific need for them; nipples, however, are apparently a necessity, as is a dusting of hair across his limbs and torso. Jon spreads his arms to display himself. 

“Better?” 

“Yes, thank you,” Martin says. “I know it doesn’t matter to you, but it makes me feel more comfortable.” 

“Right,” says Jon, his expression soft. He closes the short distance between them, until they’re almost eye to eye. “You’re sure you still want to try this? We don’t have to.” 

“No, I do,” Martin assures him. “I mean, I’m a bit nervous—first time going, umm, all the way, as it were? But I want to. I trust you.” 

He trusts Jon, and he wants him in every way, wants to experience all of Jon just as much as Jon wants to experience _him._ That first day in the cave, Jon said he wanted to know about humans (well, specifically he said “I want to know you”, but Martin extrapolated), and since then Martin’s done his best to help Jon learn about the world. Helped him choose a name, find a job and a flat (Jon’s psychic abilities made that a _lot_ simpler), navigate the peculiarities of human society. The relationship that’s grown between them at the same time has been an eager, wonderful exploration of its own, and Martin wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

Jon is endlessly curious about human physicality, alien as it is to his own. Everything from eating (an excellent alternative to geothermal energy) to sleeping, to odd vocalizations (he has a rather good singing voice and startling range). The societal fixation on sex is also of great interest to him, and he’s been very keen to try out various activities and physical configurations. Martin has been happy— _more_ than happy—to help him satisfy his curiosity; Jon’s opinion on sex is that it’s pleasant enough, though he doesn’t quite see why everyone makes such a fuss about it. 

In return, Jon has let Martin learn all about him. He has no idea how old he is, only the vague impression that he was in the vent beneath the hot springs for a long time. ‘Plenty of time to think’, as he puts it. There were others like him there, before, but he doesn’t know where they are now. He’s explained to Martin as best he can how his own mutable physiology works, though a lot of it boils down to ‘I just sort of think of what I want to do and it happens’. Which, well, fair enough; Martin’s not sure he could give a lecture on the workings of his internal organs either. 

Jon has also shared with him another kind of intimacy, alien to Martin yet so deep and thrilling that he finds himself craving it. They have explored it carefully, testing the limits of how it works between their very different bodies, and today they’ve agreed to take the final step they haven’t tried before. Martin is nervous about it, but also excited, his pulse racing with anticipation and a low, throbbing heat between his thighs. 

“I’ll be very careful, I promise,” Jon assures him, bringing a hand up to rest on Martin’s cheek. Martin leans into the touch. 

“I know,” he says, and he really does. He’s always been safe with Jon. 

“And you remember the ‘stop’ sign?”

Martin does. He’s not sure he sees the point of it, since Jon can just read his thoughts and feelings anyway, but Jon takes this sort of thing very solemnly. He insists on as many precautions as possible, and Martin appreciates that Jon has his safety in mind. He raises his hand and pats the top of his own head. Jon smiles, and presses a kiss to his cheek. 

“Good,” he says. “Shall we begin?”

“Ready when you are,” says Martin, and Jon’s whole body shimmers, his human shape fading away into something amorphous and fluid. In this form, he is the color of pale honey, golden and translucent—nearly transparent, the vague outline of objects visible through his body. He sways invitingly in front of Martin, and Martin reaches out a hand to touch him. His fingers dip into viscous warmth, and Jon curls around his hand for a moment, a caress, before withdrawing. 

Jon’s body contracts and sinks down low, then washes forward around Martin’s legs, immersing him up to his knees. It feels like wading into the most glorious warm water pool, except _more,_ because Martin can feel Jon squeezing around his legs like a gentle massage. Slowly, Jon begins to creep up further, enfolding his thighs, and Martin shivers as he realizes Jon is _teasing_ him. 

“Mmm, that’s lovely,” he encourages, and Jon gives a harder squeeze of acknowledgment. Martin feels his breathing quicken as Jon reaches the top of his thighs, his heart pounding. Jon pauses there, and Martin gives a breathless laugh.

“You tease,” he says, and then, when Jon still doesn’t move: _“Please,_ Jon, keep going.” 

Jon does, curling warm, fluid fingers around Martin’s hips and arse at the same time he licks up over Martin’s aching cock and between the folds of him, nosing up into his cunt, sliding deep, deep into him so Martin moans. Jon is stroking him inside and out, waves of pressure against his cock and the walls of his cunt, and then another tendril of treacly heat presses against his arsehole and slips inside, filling him further even as Jon continues to crawl up the length of his body. Martin lets his eyes slip shut, his cheeks burning, his hips rocking into Jon’s hot, liquid embrace, his breath coming in short, panting moans as waves of pleasure roll through him, as Jon thrusts deep inside him, laps hungrily at his cock and his cunt. 

“Oh god...Jon...Jon...” he babbles mindlessly as he comes, his hips thrusting helplessly, his whole body shaking through the aftershocks. His legs are weak and wobbly, and if not for Jon holding him, he probably would have fallen on his arse. Martin gives a shaky laugh, looking down at where Jon is now stretched halfway up his torso.

“Wow,” he says, still breathless. “That was...very, umm… Yeah. Good.” The way Jon flexes around him feels almost self-satisfied; he takes a lot of pride in rendering Martin incoherent with pleasure. 

Jon stays buried inside him, though no longer stroking, much to the relief of Martin’s overstimulated body. Jon continues moving upward, wrapping himself around Martin’s chest and shoulders, caressing down along his arms, enveloping him in a warm, syrupy embrace. Liquid tendrils coil around his fingers, as Jon clasps both Martin’s hands. The sensation sends a slow, pleasurable shiver down Martin’s spine. The intimacy of this moment, entirely immersed in the person he loves, held safe and cherished, always takes his breath away. And this is usually where it ends. 

This time, though, Jon keeps going. He slides fingers cautiously up over Martin’s throat as far as his chin, and curls carefully around and over the back of his skull. Martin can feel his breath growing quick again, and not from arousal this time. Lovely as the feel of Jon around him is, there’s an instinctive fear at the idea of having his face submerged; Martin’s never been much of a swimmer. And while he trusts Jon when he says that Martin will be fine—Jon’s calculated and tested the ability of his body to diffuse oxygen, and Jon is the cleverest person he knows—Martin’s heart is still hammering frantically at the thought of what’s about to happen. 

Jon must feel his anxiety, because he stops at Martin’s hairline, leaving his face uncovered. He presses on Martin’s left hand firmly. Martin nods, and lifts his hand up as far as his head to show that he can, though he doesn’t actually give the ‘stop’ signal. 

“All good,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. Jon still doesn’t move. He won’t, Martin knows, until _he_ gives the go ahead. Martin doesn’t have to, they could just stay like this, wrapped together close and intimate. Jon wouldn’t be disappointed with him. This could be enough—more than enough. 

But Martin wants more. He wants to be even closer. Wants to trust Jon with himself unconditionally. 

“I’m ready,” he says, and though his voice is a bit shaky, he means it. “I want this, Jon.” 

He feels a gentle pressure all over his body, everywhere at once, as if Jon is hugging him a little bit tighter. Then warm fluid flows across his face, between his lips. His vision blurs, and there’s a muted roaring in his ears as they fill with liquid. 

Jon is pouring into his mouth, and Martin fights not to clench his teeth. He can _taste_ Jon on his tongue, earthy and faintly sweet, and then he’s gagging, choking, as Jon surges in to fill his throat. Martin can’t breathe, and there’s a moment of sheer, blinding panic as the drowning feeling spreads down into his chest, his lungs leaden, and then a second later Martin realizes that he’s breathing liquid. 

He’s breathing _Jon._

He forces his breathing to slow, forces himself to take it deep and regular. Inhale, exhale. The sensation is so strange, heavy in his chest, but his lungs expand and contract as Jon flows in and out of them, feeding oxygen directly into his blood. Jon squeezes around his left hand again, a reminder and a question. Martin shakes his head. He’s good. Overwhelmed, but good.

This is how it feels, Martin realizes, to be utterly engulfed. The world is distant through the viscous curtain of gold, shapes blurry and indistinct. He can’t hear anything but the surge of his own altered breath, rushing like a tide through his inner ear. All he feels is _Jon,_ surrounding him, filling him, holding him closer and more intimate than he ever thought possible. Jon, the warmth on his skin. Jon, the sweetness on his tongue. Jon, the air in his lungs. 

He sighs, and feels it ripple soundlessly through the liquid in his throat. In response, Jon’s whole being undulates gently around and within him, a full body caress. Martin feels safe and content, in a simple and profound way. He thinks that he could happily stay like this forever.

He can’t, of course. They have a reservation for dinner later on, and they both have jobs, and friends, and library books to return. Eventually, they'll have to part, go back to being two separate beings. The real world awaits. 

But that’s all later. For now, Martin sinks into Jon’s warm, sheltering embrace, and lets himself be loved. 

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings:  
> \- This _could_ be considered vore adjacent, however that's not how it's intended (engulfing =/= eating) so I'm not tagging it as such.  
> \- Brief description of a character feeling as if they're drowning, which is quickly resolved.


End file.
